CRE. Does he not so? Nor I. I'll light tobacco With my sum-totals; my debt-books shall sole[204] Pies at young Andrew's wedding; cry you mercy, I would say, gentlemen, the Great Turk's wedding. My deeds shall be slic'd out in tailors' measures; They all employed in making Mistress Mahomet New gowns against the time. Hang dirty wealth! SLICER. What should the Great Turk's father do with wealth? CRE. 'Snigs, I would fain now hear some fighting news. _Enter_ CASTER. SLICER. There's one will furnish you, I warrant you. CAS. Pox! plague! hell! death! damn'd luck! This 'tis! The devil take all fortunes! Never man Came off so: quite and clean defunct, by heaven! Not a piece left. CRE. What, all your ordnance lost? CAS. But one to bear and lose it! All the world Was, sure, against me. CRE. 'Snigs, how many fell? CAS. He threw twice twelve. CRE. By'r Lady, a shrewd many! CAS. The devil, sure, was in his hand, I think. CRE. Nay, if the devil was against you, then---- CAS. But one for to be hit in all the time, And that, too, safe enough, to any one's thinking: 'T stood on eleven. CRE. 'Slid, a mighty slaughter; But did he stand upon eleven at once? CAS. The plague take all impertinences. Peace! CRE. These soldiers are so choleric, there is No dealing with 'em. Then they've lost the day? CAS. 'Twas ten to one, by heaven, all the while. CRE. And yet all kill'd at last! Hard fortune, faith! What news from Brussels or the Hague? D' y' hear Ought of the Turk's designs? CAS. I'll make thee news for the Coranti, dotard. CRE. Ay, the Coranti; what doth that say? CAS. O hell! Thou foolish thing, Keep in that tongue of thine; or---- SLICER. Good now, peace: He's very furious when he's mov'd. HEAR. This 'twas. You must be venturing without your fancy-man. CRE. What officer's that fancy-man, lieutenant? Some great commander, sure. CAS. Pox! let it go; I'll win't again: 'twas but the relics of An idle hundred. CRE. 'Snigs, and well-remember'd. You did receive the hundred that I sent you To th' race this morning by your man, my bailiff? CAS. Take him away, his wine speaks in him now. CRE. Godsnigs! the farm is mine, and must be so. SLICER. Debate these things another time, good friends. _Enter_ HAVE-AT-ALL. Come, come, have patience. Od's my life, away! There's Master Have-at-all is mad; he'll spit you If he but know you are a usurer. CRE. A plot, a plot, to take away my life and farm! [_Exit._ HAVE. Fight, as I live, with any one. Lieutenant, Do not come near me now, nor yet thou, Caster: It works, 'fore Mars, it works; I'll take my walk, And if I do find any one, by Jove----